


but tonight we dance

by psikeval



Category: Tricksters - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psikeval/pseuds/psikeval
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>AU in the sense that I’ve omitted Aly’s getting pregnant with triplets at the age of 18, because fantasy realm or no, I am decidedly not about that life. All other canon remains intact.</p>
    </blockquote>





	but tonight we dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily/gifts).



> AU in the sense that I’ve omitted Aly’s getting pregnant with triplets at the age of 18, because fantasy realm or no, I am decidedly not about that life. All other canon remains intact.

The trick with coronation balls, Aly thought as she idly stoked the pile of papers burning on her windowsill, was that they couldn’t have just one. It seemed like one ought to be enough—she’d certainly not expected to be holding a fourth and final tonight—but the Copper Isles were not Tortall, where (wars and Duke Roger of Conte aside) there was a degree of stability to the political intrigues. Queen Dovasary Balitang stood twice-royal, first of a new line of queens and product of a violent uprising; like or not, she had more alliances to win both in and beyond the Isles. And being a small country at sea, with many foreigners traveling great distances and their own new raka nobles still struggling for control over their lands, they couldn’t expect the necessary visitors to arrive all at once.

Aly fanned smoke out through the window and poked at the pages of coded reports smoldering in the iron bowl, spreading the dwindling flames to those beneath. She’d finished transcribing all of last night’s reports, and with the palace full to bursting with visitors and additional servants, there would be no news delivered by anyone but darkings. It simply wasn’t safe.

There were a still a few hours before tonight’s ball began. As for their queen, Dove was meeting with an assembly of Rajmuat nobility, all of whom had attended at least one coronation ceremony already and would be going home to rest when the assembly concluded, rather than trying to ready themselves to be seen in court.

Only Dove would have to worry about _those_ preparations, Aly thought with a wry smile.

By now, quite against her will, Dove was slowly growing used to being dressed and attended to by her growing number of ladies in waiting. She’d told Aly more than once that she thought the whole thing utterly absurd, but to the ladies themselves she was unfailingly polite, forging friendships where she could and absorbing any interesting gossip that came her way. At least one young woman in the group came from a disgruntled luarin family forced to relinquish lands after the rebellion. Aly hardly worried — Boulaj kept watch like a hawk and Dove was far too used to keeping secrets of the conspiracy to reveal anything by a slip of the tongue.

On the windowsill, Trick, who liked to stare at the little flames and sometimes run right through them, hopped onto Aly’s hand and rolled up her arm to perch on her shoulder. From the corner of her eye, she saw him stretch himself upward to speak.

“Dove says, needs to braid her hair, come help.”

Aly couldn’t help grinning at the choice of excuse, but she was hardly about to refuse.

“Are you coming?” she asked, slipping down onto the floor and straightening her sarong. When he squeaked an affirmative, Aly nudged Trick towards her neck with a fingertip, and he quickly wrapped himself around as his usual string of beads. “I suppose we’d better not keep her waiting.”

Leaving the last crumbling ashes of the reports still faintly smoking, Aly set off through the halls of the Grey Palace.

\--

“Your royal highness commands my presence?” Aly asked brightly, poking her head into the queen’s private study.

“Don’t,” Dove groaned, rubbing a hand over her face in a gesture too weary for a fourteen-year-old girl. “I’ve had enough of that all morning, and it'll only be worse tonight. Just come in and talk to me like I’m a person, would you?”

“Gladly,” Aly said more quietly as she moved into the room and sat down. The smile Dove gave her was small, but entirely real. “Was it that bad?”

“No, not... not really.” Dove dug her fingertips into her temples. She looked the way Aly always felt after too many hours of reading and coding reports without rest. “It’s just that if I tried to address every single grievance they bring to me, I’d never have a moment to actually rule the country. But I can’t ignore them, either. It’s tricky.”

Aly made a sympathetic noise. "I suppose you'll always be able to count on the nobles to complain."

"Funny you should mention it," said Dove with a grim sort of humor. "One of the complaints usually has to do with you."

“Little old me?” Her tone was light, but she felt oddly apprehensive, knowing that she was another source of contention for Dove to deal with.

"You know how people react at first, a Tortallan and former slave doing what you do. Being told to trust a foreigner rubs some people the wrong way."

"One of the god's jokes, I expect."

“Not one of his better ones,” Dove muttered, then glanced up. “Oh, don’t look like that. You’re my friend and I wouldn’t trade you for anyone, but even you can see how it feels insulting, needing a luarin to complete the prophecy as if no raka girl could be just as clever.”

“Of course she could," said Aly, quite carefully. "I’m sure many are. But to come across years of training in spy work, under Rittevon rule—”

“I know, I know.” Dove waved at her impatiently. “At any rate, we made the prophecy come true, which seems like the most important thing to me. But the fact of the matter is you _are_ luarin, and plenty of raka have been given good reason to see luarin only as oppressors.”

It was the sort of truth that ached, that always made Aly feel helpless and small, knowing that not a single thing the luarin had done could be changed. Feeling the weight of that history. She lived in a whirl of plans and plotting, seeking out present and future possibilities, but she felt so lost in the face of the Isles’ ugly past. The legacy of the luarin rule would haunt them all for years to come.

She thought of the Bazhir in Tortall’s southern desert, and for the first time Aly wondered how they felt about having King Jonathan as the Voice of the Tribes. As a little girl she’d always thought of it as little more than another of her mother’s stories — but did the Bazhir resent it, having such a sacred office held by the king of Tortall when so many people in the north called them backwards, crude, uneducated? How could they _not_?

When Aly spoke, her voice was small and subdued.

“Is there anything I can do?"

Dove reached across the desk and clasped Aly’s hand. “Do what you always do. Protect me, and the Isles, and the results will speak for themselves. And if that isn’t clear enough,” she added, mouth set stubbornly, “then I will speak for you, too.”

“If there’s ever--” she began, but Dove just held up her free hand to stop her.

“Trust me, if there’s any task I can pass along to you, you’ll be the first to know.”

“I could always braid your hair,” she offered sweetly, after a pause. “Seeing as how that’s what milady summoned me for.”

Dove’s mouth twitched. “Lady Malin would have a fit.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

“Never.” They grinned at each other, any lingering tension broken, and then Dove sighed quietly. “But while we’re on the subject, I really should be going.”

“Yes, of course, your majesty.” Aly bobbed her head. “So many skirts to be arranged just so, to say nothing of milady’s toilette, and such titillating gossip—”

“Get out, you, before I throw you to the fish.”

\--

As no one was going to particularly care what _she_ wore to the ball, Aly took the opportunity to slip down to the kitchens for a snack. She and Chenaol didn’t work so much farther apart in the palace, but their jobs kept them busy enough that Aly found herself missing her favorite arms supplier and cook, and thought fondly back on the days when Chenaol would shove a couple warm pasties into Aly’s hands before they went to meet with Ulasim and the rest.

 _I know I’ve been cooped up too long when I start to miss planning the rebellion_ , she told herself, idly tugging at the ends of the hair that now brushed her shoulders.

When she entered the kitchens one of the newer cooks, Kyani, looked up and pointed wordlessly to the closed door of Chenaol’s private kitchen and store room. Aly thanked her with a quick gesture and walked on; normally Kyani was happy to chat, but preparations for the ball had the staff working in chaos, and interfering would just get them both in trouble.

She rapped their old code into the heavy worn wood of Chenaol’s door, but it didn’t swing open right away. Something interesting, maybe.

“ _Who’s there?_ ”

“Just little old me,” Aly called out cheerfully, and thought she heard a passing servant snicker.

After a moment, Chenaol opened the door and raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. “Get in, then.”

Aly obeyed with a grin, which turned into a genuine smile when she saw Jimarn sitting inside.

“Well, hello!”

“Duani,” said Jimarn, a brief smile curving her lips. “I see your new rank hasn’t changed you.”

“Though I try and I try,” Aly said with a dramatic sigh, reaching for the plate piled with rice balls which apparently hadn’t passed muster for being included among tonight’s refreshments. They were all a bit misshapen, as if a very frustrated cook had gone through more than their share of mistakes before finding a method of making them worthy of display to royal guests.

(All in all, even making these rice balls could not have gone as badly as the kitchens’ preparations for the Tortallan envoy, during which a number of cooks came to Chenaol over and over to insist that not even luarin could want their food to be so bland. Aly had laughed until certain unkind individuals started reminding her of how much she’d fussed while getting used to traditional raka spices, at which point she decided it was time for a strategic retreat.)

It was a pleasant surprise to see Jimarn here on such a busy day. Unlike Aly’s lieutenants, most of whom were under her official employ and openly aligned to the royal house, Jimarn didn’t come anywhere near the palace without clothing spelled by Ysul. She kept her own network of people in Rajmuat now, informants among the full-blooded raka and former slaves who were apt to distrust any ruler in the Grey Palace, prophecy or no.

"Big news?" she asked, half-hopeful, but Jimarn shook her head.

"It may be busy here, but in the city, my people are keeping close to the ground. Nobody wants to attract attention with all the nobles swarming. It's quiet enough no one will notice me coming here. There hasn't been much change. They want to believe in Dove, but they're waiting to see if she's really the queen they've been waiting for. Many of them are still asking why she can't be bothered to free the slaves."

Chenaol made a warning noise in her throat, but Jimarn just glared at her. "I won't hold my tongue. Not about this."

"There's no one saying you should," said Chenaol, her voice carefully even. "But you might watch your tone when you speak about the queen. You threw in your lot with her, same as the rest of us. Besides, you and I both know the Isles relied on slaves for income long before the luarin arrived."

Jimarn spat on the floor, ignoring the pointed _thump_ of Chenaol’s cleaver. “So that's it? Money and tradition,” she growled, like the words were something foul. “That’s our first concern, when the queen’s people are sold like dinner plates?” 

“We’re all of us the queen’s people now, little one,” Chenaol said sternly, with one last cut of her cleaver into meat before she set it down and the line of her shoulders softened. “You know she does what she can, but the old guard aren’t so easily swayed.”

"It shouldn't be a matter of persuasion." Jimarn's hands were clenched into fists under the table, and for the second time that day Aly found herself feeling helpless, almost irrelevant to the matter at hand.

It was not a feeling she'd ever particularly enjoyed.

"It shouldn't be," Chenaol agreed readily enough, "but it is, and that's what you and I get for putting Dove on the throne and not a tyrant."

Rather than answer, Jimarn turned her attention toward Aly. "And where is your crow-man?" Every line of her body was still too tense, her mouth pressed into a tight line, the pleasant tone of her voice strained, but Aly recognized the effort and accepted the change of subject.

"Away," she sighed, every inch the pining lover. "He took his flock north last week, but he might be back tonight."

"Perhaps in time to dance with his lonely mate," said Chenaol with a smirk, scraping scraps into a pan for the palace dogs.

 Aly sniffed with feigned hurt. "If you'd ever danced with him, you wouldn't mock me so."

"That's true." The tension in Jimarn's shoulders was slowly unwinding, and she shared a conspiratory glance with Chenaol. "If he was no good, I doubt duani would be caught up _dancing_  quite so often."

"Traitors!" To hide her smile, Aly grabbed another misshapen rice ball. "Traitors, both of you."

\--

When Aly emerged from the kitchens, full of rice and salted fish, she went upstairs to her rooms to dress. Now that she lived in the palace, she'd accumulated some uncomfortably grand clothes befitting her station, most of which she flatly refused to wear. She hadn't even wanted to go to the trouble of standing still for fittings, but when Dove, Winnamine and Nuritin all set their mind on a task the outcome was inevitable. After rifling through all the things in her closet she normally ignored, Aly settled on a short-sleeved summer gown in light green. Trick flattened himself into a wide ribbon around her neck until he looked like a part of the necklace of colored stones Nawat had given her.

There was still no sign of him, which she tried not to find discouraging. The work done by Nawat and his so-called flock was as important as ever, with pockets of unrest still lurking in the Isles -- but it was hard not to miss him, when he had to go away, especially with visitors to the palace slowing Aly's own work considerably.

If nothing else, having spent a little more time than she'd meant to catching up with Chenaol and Jimarn, Aly didn't have much time to sit around wishing for Nawat; she'd only just deemed herself presentable for the evening when Trick informed her that Dove would soon be making her entrance. Aly locked her rooms and made sure the rest of the darkings were keeping an eye out for any suspicious behavior before making her way to the vast throne room below. 

The towering space that had been used to daunting effect by Rubinyan and Imajane was actually quite well-suited to a larger crowd. There was plenty of room for the dancing to come, but the walls weren't quite so cavernous with the sounds of people talking and moving about.

Aly had just spotted Winna standing near Lady Nuritin with Petranne when Dove entered, flanked by her ladies in waiting.

Gone was the tired girl of just a few hours before. Their queen stood tall, dressed in deep burnished copper silk a few shades darker than her skin, with a sheer gold overgown that matched her rings and bracelets. Some of her braids had been twisted into elaborate loops, forming a second circlet beneath her crown. Dove might never have the striking good looks of Sarai, but seeing her like this – steady and straight-backed and every inch the queen of her people – it was hard to remember having seen anyone more beautiful.

When she reached the throne, everyone in the room sank into a bow or curtsy, according to their custom. The silence was complete, and quite impressive, the slightest rustle of fabric clearly audible. If Thom had been there, Aly would definitely have tripped him just then.

"Welcome," Dove said calmly, trusting the room's perfect acoustics to carry her voice. By now she was quite experienced with the routine of these events. "And thank you all for coming. I look forward to speaking with each of you tonight, but for now, please, enjoy yourselves."

That was the cue for the musicians, and a quiet melody filled the air as guests milled about and began to talk amongst themselves again.

For her part, Aly walked slowly through the assorted groups of people, most of whom would have no interest in her even if they knew her rank-- at best, it might scare them off. No one rushed to make friends with a spymaster, especially after Topabaw. She passed relatively unheeded, ensuring her path led to the refreshment tables -- Chenaol's kebabs of roasted meat and vegetables were always incredible, and had been cooked with milder spices tonight to accommodate foreign tastes. Aly still stayed away from arak on principle, but she picked up a cup filled with a milder mix of fruit juices and wine, sipping slowly as she circled the periphery of the hall.

At the moment, Dove was speaking to the Ajikuro sisters, Miyuko and Saki, who had arrived with the Yamani ambassador’s envoy two days before. It was an encouraging sign that the emperor would send members of such an old and respected family to personally greet the Isles’ new queen. The middle sister of the Ajikuro clan, Haname, served as a lady-in-waiting to Tortall’s Yamani-born Princess Shinkokami, and such a strong indication of the emperor's willingness to forge a friendship with Dove where he'd shunned the Rittevons -- well, it was more than any of them had dared hope for.

After a few moments, Miyuko moved on to pay her respects to several newly ennobled raka present, but Saki, the younger sister, remained. She and Dove appeared to be discussing the effect of recent political events on the year's expected harvest, and Aly could only shake her head at how terribly intrigued both seemed by the conversation, leaning towards each other as Dove made a particular point about taxes.

"Sneaking about again?"

Aly jumped and immediately cursed herself for the moment's lapse in attention. Behind her, Taybur Sibigat grinned victoriously.

"Look at you, startled at last. It's like a Midwinter gift come early."

"And the only one you'll receive from me," she replied, moving closer to swat his arm. "So I suppose you'd best cherish it."

His boyish face crinkled up in dimples when he smiled. "Keeping an eye on the guests? We poor men will start to think you don't want to dance with us at all."

"Oh!" Aly waved her hands like the frivolous maid she'd once pretended to be. "I'm sure that none of these fancy nobles would ever want to dance with a simple country girl like me."

"I don't know about that. One might have you." Taybur was looking over Aly's head at something to their left, and when she followed his gaze she suddenly felt like her heart was too big or too fast for her chest. She wondered if she'd ever stop feeling that way, when she and Nawat were reunited. When she thought of her parents, of her father racing down steps at Pirate's Swoop and skipping half in his rush to see Alanna, Aly rather doubted it was the kind of thing that could entirely go away.

Nawat was weaving his way between tables and guests, but his eyes never wavered from Aly.

"Go on," Taybur said as Nawat drew closer. "Act your age; dance. If the world ends, you can always say 'I told you so.'"

"You always know just how to comfort a woman," she told him dryly, but in truth she hesitated only a moment before going forward to meet Nawat. Her crow-man was dressed in a dark tunic and trousers, perfectly cleaned and pressed, but she could see the exhaustion shadowing his eyes, and as soon as they drew close enough she put her arms around him and squeezed tight. He was solid, and warm, and melted into Aly just a little with a sigh, his chin resting on the top of her head.

"Hello," he said softly. Aly could feel the word as it left his lungs, and she let herself savor it for just a moment before pulling back, telling herself to be mindful of their surroundings. Their fingers caught and tangled in the space between them. Nawat's thumb traced across her knuckles and he added, a little helplessly, "I missed you very much."

Normally she might joke, but something caught in Aly's chest at the sight of him, half-dead on his feet and still standing here to see her. "That's good," she said instead, lifting Nawat's left hand to kiss the inside of his wrist. "It makes me feel less silly for walking around this place all out of sorts for a week. I even started making friends with the crows around the palace because they reminded me a little of you."

His mouth curved into a smile that warmed Aly down to her toes. "I know. They told me."

"Terrible gossips, your folk."

"Yours are worse," he countered, stepping close enough that Aly had to remind herself again of the people all around them. "Now, unless you've decided you'd prefer one of your new crow friends as a mate, I think you should dance with me before I fall asleep."

"And what if I did?" she teased, pressed against his side as they made their way to the open part of the floor where others had already begun to dance. "What if Liyalat started to win me over with his offerings of barnacle bits? Some of which, I must say, are quite impressive."

Nawat considered this as Aly rearranged their hands and began to lead through the steps. "I'd have to kill him," he decided.

"Oh? Doesn't seem fair, you being a human and all."

His eyebrows rose just a little at that. "I thought you might not like me killing him in the first place."

"Oh no," she assured him, patting his arm as they turned in tandem. "That part's quite thrilling."

"Perhaps it would be m--"

Just then, Aly staggered, blinking spots from her eyes after being nearly blinded by the blaze of godhood that flared next to the throne. She spun around for a better look, Nawat still holding her hand, only to realize that every single person was frozen in place -- all except for her, Nawat, and Dove, who was standing by the dais with a woman Aly had never seen and a man that could only be Kyprioth.

She glanced at Nawat, who cocked his head in affirmative, and as one, they began to weave their way through dancers still as stone toward Dove and the visiting gods. "Must you always enter like you've got something to prove?" she called out as they approached, their every step ringing out on the polished floor. "Why, I'll start to think you're trying to turn my head."

Kyprioth had appeared in his perennial favorite guise of a raka statesman, though he seemed younger and taller, bright with power, and was draped in gold jewelry and bright clothing befitting the ball. The goddess at his side appeared as a beautiful dark-skinned young woman dressed in traditional raka garb of a blood-red sarong and golden sash. She smiled at them as they approached, and Aly bowed her head in respect—it never hurt, when meeting new gods.

“Hello, my dear,” said Kyprioth merrily. “I don’t believe you’ve met my sister, the Jaguar Goddess.”

“Not quite.” The goddess reached out and took Aly’s wrists in her hands, her grip warm and steady. “But she left me a flower, once, and I never forget a face.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Aly murmured, surprised to find that she meant it. She dimly remembered that the Jaguar Goddess was a trickster herself, long imprisoned by the luarin gods, but she was also considered by many the patron goddess of the jungles and the earth of the Copper Isles themselves. Aly thought there was something of that in the Jaguar Goddess’ eyes, something she recognized — a bond of love rooted deep in the country whose people they both had sworn to, in their way.

“Be careful, brother,” the Goddess said, smiling. “I may just steal her away from you.”

“My very own servant? Why, I never.” Despite his words, Kyprioth looked rather insufferably pleased about having introduced them. “Ah well. I suppose I’ll always have her crow.”

Nawat, who’d been idly picking at bracelets for most of their exchange, barely spared the god a single bored glance. “Only when I decide to answer you.”

Rather than look put out, Kyprioth beamed at him, a teacher delighted by his pupil’s clever answer.

The Jaguar Goddess released her hold on Aly. “I think we’ve stopped the celebration long enough. I'll have to hide from our brother and sister in the days to come; they won't be pleased with my escape," she said to Dove, who still looked a little stunned. "But it was good to see you, Dovasary, and I'm sure we'll meet again."

"I would be honored," Dove managed, inclining her head.

"Then it's settled!" Kyprioth clapped his hands once, and just like that, the gods had vanished.

Around them, the ball went on precisely as it had been, with none of their guests seeming any the wiser—but Aly suspected that at least one person was watching carefully enough to be startled. Sure enough, when she turned, Taybur was staring at her and Nawat, clearly having noticed their sudden appearance by the dais.

 _Gods_ , she signed to him under the guise of adjusting her hair. Taybur’s eyes went wide, and the answering movement of his hands seemed less a message to Aly and more a request of mercy from the heavens. _Not likely when it comes to Kyprioth_ , she thought, but left him to it.

Dove's eyes were still just a little too wide. "He does like to come and go abruptly, doesn't he."

"Needs to grab his amusements where he can, layabout that he is." Aly sincerely hoped Kyprioth was still listening. "We'd better go and join the rest, before someone thinks we're up to something--or gets jealous of us taking all your majesty's attention."

"Right, yes." Dove was already nodding. "We'll talk later."

"Don't let him make you nervous," Nawat said unexpectedly, slipping his arm around Aly's waist. "He just likes to ruffle his feathers and talk."

Dove smiled at him. "I'm getting that impression. Thank you."

He bobbed his head in a quick nod that still reminded Aly of the bird he'd been, and then they said their goodbyes to Dove for the time being.

“Well,” said Aly, leaning just slightly into Nawat as they walked away from the dais. “He seems determined that we never be bored.”

His normal indifference to the dealings of Kyprioth didn’t change the way Nawat’s eyes blazed with pleasure when she easily tied them together this way, with hands and words and intent that had started to feel natural. _We._ A small promise, as promises went, but no less valuable.

“Will you dance with me again?” he asked, brushing her hair with his fingertips.

“Of course.” Aly glanced behind to see Dove’s face light up with pleasure as Saki noh Ajikuro approached, a cup of wine in each of her hands. After sparing a moment for a quick, private smile, she squeezed Nawat’s hand and grinned up at him. “Perhaps this time we’ll even make it around the room.”

\--

"Well, congratulations, your majesty," said Aly, lying across a couch in Dove's bedchamber well past midnight. "That's the last of your coronation balls completed. And between the four of them, not a single disaster."

"That depends on who you ask. Apparently I spent too much time with Saki and not enough with _visiting gentlemen,_ " Dove grumbled, taking a small army of pins from the braids on her head. "I didn't realize how quickly the whole court would try to marry me off."

"Yes," Aly grimaced in sympathy, "I think you'll find it's their most beloved sport until you decide some lucky man is suitable."

Dove turned away to place her jewelry on the nightstand next to her bed, the soft clink of gold on wood the only noise in the room. When she did speak, her voice was quiet and cautious. "And... if I didn't wish to marry a man?"

Once she'd gotten the question out, she turned to look at Aly, chin raised like she was steeling herself for a fight. Aly straightened up on the couch and considered her next words carefully. A year ago, the question might have caught her completely off-guard, but she liked to think she knew Dove better than that. She'd wondered, over the passing months, if she might hear something like this one day, and now she could only be grateful that Dove trusted her enough to ask.

“It’s fair uncommon, as my Auntie Daine would say,” she admitted softly, her eyes never leaving Dove’s. “But nothing’s impossible. And as queen, you’ve every right to the sort of match that would suit you best. Though as to a person in specific—”

“Oh, I know I still can’t marry whoever I’d like,” Dove interrupted, a little impatient. “The decision’s too tied up in politics for that."

“That said,” Aly was suddenly and intensely focused on arranging the lines of her skirts just so. “I can’t say I’d scoff at an alliance with the Yamani empire—not through the royals, I would think, but perhaps a well-placed member of nobility. Young, educated, perhaps with a mind for politics,” she went on, feigning distraction, tapping her fingertips idly on the seam of her gown. She glanced up at Dove through her eyelashes, then fluttered them for full effect. “Unless, of course, your majesty doesn't like the idea?”

In response, Dove gave a sigh that was half a laugh and threw her arms around Aly, squeezing tightly.

“Too pleased with yourself by half,” she muttered into Aly’s shoulder. 

“So my mother has often told me.”

After a few more moments, Dove pulled away, her expression careful. "Do you really think...?"

"There's no way to be sure," Aly admitted. "I expect she'd need the emperor's consent. But Dove, my dear, my queen--" she leaned in again to wrap one arm over Dove's shoulders. "I can't imagine she'd refuse you. No one is  _that_ interested in the Isles' annual rice crop."

"Says you," Dove huffed, feigning nearly enough outrage to cover up the spark of hope in her eyes.

"Yes, says me, your humble, ignorant servant--"

"Insufferable, you mean." 

"Well, if that's how I'm to rewarded for my efforts..." Aly got to her feet with one last fond pat to Dove's hair and sashayed easily toward the door, only to stop and grin widely over her shoulder. "Taybur saw her staring too. He thinks you'd make a lovely couple."

She shielded herself from a well-thrown pillow by closing the door behind her, and went off with a spring in her step to find Nawat.

**Author's Note:**

> To my recipient, Emily: Though it certainly grew larger than the fairly straightforward prompt fill I'd intended, I hope you enjoyed your Yuletide gift even half as much as I enjoyed immersing myself in Trickster canon and writing it! This is my first year as a participant, and I was pretty nervous, but your request letter was so lovely and encouraging that I felt better about it right away, so I just wanted to thank you for that. Happy Holidays! <3
> 
> ((A fancast for this story is available [here](http://psikeval.tumblr.com/post/71858816858/tricksters-queen-fancast-with-yara-shahidi-as).))


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